


Kossori

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Half-Sibling Incest, Kissing, Light-Hearted, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:19:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7716256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finarfin goes to Fëanor in their secret meeting place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kossori

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



> Also fills the Secrecy square in my second Season of Kink card.

“At times,” Fëanáro said, fixing prying eyes on him from across the room, “I fancy you are in this solely for the thrill of coming here in this guise, baby brother.”

Out of breath, his cheeks coloured by excitement, Arafinwë let the heavy wooden door, normally hidden by a tapestry, fall shut behind him, smiling coyly. He did find the trappings of prudence and stealthiness required by his clandestine liaison with Fëanáro quite stimulating on their own – slipping away from his own chambers, keeping to the shadowy corners of the castle, all without making a sound, and then hurriedly wending his way along narrow, steep passageways hewn into the thickness of the walls. But his gratification would hardly have been the same without the reward at the end. 

Fëanáro held a large pad on his knees with a blank sheet on it, ruffled at the edges, and a near-empty bottle of wine stood on the low table in front of him. 

“Or perhaps I do because I know you are expecting me rather anxiously, my very modest brother,” Arafinwë quipped. 

Fëanáro snickered. The pad flew from his knees onto the table and he stretched his arms over his head, like a cat getting ready for the hunt. Arafinwë waited, still holding his black hooded cape wrapped tightly around his body. Fëanáro was on him without dithering. He pushed the hood back from his head, plunging large rough hands in Arafinwë's thick curls, combing them down to his shoulders to nudge the cape off them.

Arafinwë let it fall at his feet, and Fëanáro went on to divest him of the robes he wore underneath. There was no reason for him to wear as many layers of clothing – except that he liked to have Fëanáro peel them away from him, watch him hastily work his way through tiny buttons and grow impatient at the umpteenth knot, until his eyes finally alighted on his naked body to admire it like a wonder he beheld for the very first time. 

“Your daughter is so full of herself, she cannot even imagine that if I look at her at all, it is because she takes after you,” he murmured, bending, covering Arafinwë's cheeks and jaw and neck in sloppy, slithery kisses, which brought him to Arafinwë's mouth shiver by shiver. Arafinwë's lips he tasted with tongue and teeth, both gentle and demanding. “Little does she know that I have your hair woven into my very clothing as the finest gold, close to my skin, or where the black inlaid in your finery comes from. Sometimes I feel sorry for her.”

Arafinwë scoffed.

“Rarely,” Fëanáro promptly corrected and nipped at Arafinwë's lower lip, plush and red, and already slightly swollen from his attentions. 

Arafinwë returned the gesture with a bite to Fëanáro's own lower lip. “Dishonesty does not become you, brother.”

“I did feel sorry for her, once or twice,” Fëanáro insisted, but warm, genuine amusement softened his fervent gaze.

The next moment Arafinwë was pushed against the wall, and the tiny windowless room of their secret encounters seemed to grow even tinier, and be reduced to his brother's bigger form, the air stale with his his wine-flavoured breath and a faint whiff of perfume which didn't altogether cover the underlying residue of forge-smells. Fëanáro wedged his right thigh between his legs, large and warm, and drew him in an open-mouthed, full, ravaging kiss. Fëanáro's bulge pressed against his hip. Arafinwë hooked his hands onto Fëanáro's waistband, but with his brother so close to him he couldn't pull his trousers down, so he just slipped his hands inside them and cupped his ass. 

Fëanáro broke the kiss, sucking on his lower lip until he had to let go of it with a smack. His eyes focused on Arafinwë's face again, boring into him, and he stood immobile. A tingling spread through Arafinwë's body under that gaze, and he squirmed against the hard thigh pressed on his now-full erection, his fingers digging into Fëanáro's buttocks.

“Well?” he said huskily, after it had gone on for some time. “Will you make love to me after all the trouble I went to, or will you just keep me here in this hidden room of yours, hoarded like one more priceless jewel for you to leer at?”

Fëanáro's intake of breath ended in a gasp, as if the idea were new to him but not unwelcome, but at last he lifted Arafinwë in his arms, and carried him to bed.


End file.
